


No Rest For The Wicked

by supersoakerx



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Violence, Name-Calling, Prostitution, blowjob, minor blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: Imagine Adam Driver was playing Hook in Disney's upcoming live-action Peter Pan:Reader is a prostitute in a port town, circa late 18th century (1700s). Hook's goons abduct you and you are taken aboard his ship, the Jolly Roger.
Relationships: Captain Hook x You, Captain Hook x reader, Captain Hook/Reader, Captain Hook/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	No Rest For The Wicked

“She’s here, Cap’n,” the man says, his voice gruff as gravel and his calloused hand tight as a noose on her arm. “We’ve got her.”

“Where, Mister Smee?” says Hook after a pause, gazing out of the tall latticed windows and not bothering to turn around.

Mister Smee glances at the bos’n, Flint, with an evil glee. Flint stands on the other side of the girl, gripping her by the other arm and holding a dagger to her throat. Over the top of her head he looks back at Mister Smee with a sick, smug smirk.

“Some miserable alley by the tavern, sir,” grins Smee, “jus’ like you said she’d be. She was, uh,” he looks her over, hungrily, “jus’ finishin’ up.”

Hook hums a low, throaty laugh. “Pathetic,” he says. Finally, he turns to face them.

Her dress is ragged—stained with dirt and shit and muck at the hem, patched in some places. The bodice is old and thin, but cinched so her breasts just about topple out of it. One sleeve has been torn completely off, and the other hangs on by a thread. She’s missing a shoe, and, “tsk,” Hook tuts to notice, her bottom lip’s been split. “I said to be gentle, fellas,” Hook says, looking her over. “Didn’t I?”

Smee and Flint sneer at each other. Hook stalks towards them, prowling like a panther, resplendent in a ruby red velvet coat. Standing in front of her, taking in her lose tendrils of hair, her grimy pores, her _smell_ , he purrs ill-naturedly, “perhaps I forgot.”

The two pirates huff breathy, derisive laughs; their stubby fingers dig into her skin.

Hook grimaces, nostrils flaring. “Does she have all her teeth?” He rests the cold metal curve of the hook on her bottom lip and chin, and presses down.

Alarm flares in her as she drops her mouth open. If he turned the hook a few degrees and slashed it, he’d slice her throat open.

“Any coins on her?” the Captain asks his men as he peers into the girl’s mouth.

“Couple pennies,” says Flint dismissively, and Hook grunts in response. The Captain leans away, eyeing how her breath fogged up the metal.

She swallows, taking the opening. “S-sir, I’m—,” she tries to speak.

“—a whore,” Hook finishes flatly for her, and her mouth snaps shut. Smee and Flint tug hard on her arms, shaking her where she stands. “And what’s more, you’re _mine_ , and you’ll speak if I ever feel the need to ask it of you,” Hook growls, his top lip curling beneath his moustache.

“I—,” she tries again, a little breathless, imploring him with her eyes, hoping to buy time while she plans an esca—

“—or, you can belong to my men.”

Mister Smee and Flint leer closer—she smells their rancid breath, hot on her face, and the acrid stench of stale sweat. A hand—Smee’s?—skims down her front. Hook doesn’t move to stop it.

So… that’s it, then. The time for escape has been and gone, and what’s offered now is merely the illusion of choice. Her chest deflates in a slow, shaky exhale, her eyes trained on Hook’s own black depths, glinting like obsidian in the low light.

“Enough,” Hook spits when he sees it in her eyes: resignation, surrender, hopelessness. But that’s not all, no. There’s something gritty, something _hard_ underneath…

He’ll break that in her soon enough. “Come now, little fae,” the Captain purrs, running the cool blunted point of his hook along her jaw, delighting as panic seizes her features. “We each know you’ve made your choice,” he whispers as the two pirates release their hold, stepping away.

Hook’s eyes flit between hers, down to her breasts, and back. “Leave us,” he looks at her while he says it to Mister Smee and the bos’n, Flint. Hook doesn’t wait for them to fully scamper from his Quarters before his hand works at the top buttons of his breeches.

“S-sir—,” she begins, her eyes widening, her gaze frantic, flitting between his face and his hand—and his _hook_ , a latent threat, a promise of pain, which hangs by his thigh.

“Shut up,” Hook spits, strolling to a nearby bench-seat built into the wall of the ship, “come here.”

It’s in her best interest to obey, so she does. _For now_ , she thinks.

“Kneel,” Hook says, his hand working beneath his breeches.

She glares at him, in full awareness of the futility of it, but unable to stop herself from a show of defiance. The Captain merely cocks an eyebrow at her. His hand doesn’t still between his legs, the bulge of his fist obvious beneath his pants, and he rests his hook on his thigh. “You would test me?” he murmurs.

Without a word, she sinks slowly down, the wooden boards of the ship’s floor creaking beneath the thud of her knees. She’d put all her weight into it, another small rebellion despite the trickle of pain up the front of her thighs. _Worth it_.

“Open,” Hook growls darkly, tapping the curve of the hook on her closed mouth as he spreads his legs wider. The metal feels cool, almost soothing, against the swollen cut on her bottom lip.

She places her hands on his thighs and slowly opens her mouth, inching closer ever so slightly.

The wet of her tongue catches Hook’s eye, and he can’t resist the temptation. “Lick it,” he says.

Her eyes narrow at him as she does it, the best exaggerated lap of her tongue across the metal as she can manage.

Hook’s swollen cock, now fully thick and hard, throbs in his hand. It’s partly her antics, he knows, but it’s partly her stubbornness—the way she thinks she’s defying him, in little ways here and there—that fuels his need.

No one has said ‘no’ to Hook in a very, very long time, and _never_ like this.

He’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. “Ah,” hums the Captain, “so you _do_ know what your place is here,” he withdraws his hand from his slacks and leans into her space, “I knew it. You are no faeling fresh from the grove, are you? This mouth,” he pauses, tracing her lips with a thick warm flesh and blood finger, “it’s a practised one.”

All the things she could say in response fly and jump around in her mind like crickets. She did what she had to do. She _survived_. She made a _living_. She’s _good_ at it. She knows that’s why he wants her, why he sent his hounds to fetch her—

“Show me.”

—but she takes too long to say any of it. Hook’s already leaning back in his seat, his face smooth and impassive; blank, a challenge. _Impress me_ , it says, _move me_ , and she gazes so long she’s startled when his full, rosey-pink lips move and the word “now” comes out.

She glances at his crotch and wets her lips in preparation. Beneath his breeches, the flushed head of his cock pokes out above his thin linen drawers, the drawstring loose and, Heaven help her, enticing.

She leans closer, keeping her eyes locked with his until she can’t anymore, and presses big, wet, open-mouthed kisses to his cockhead where it rests against his lower abdomen.

Hook hisses through his teeth, almost cursing.

She continues, caressing the smooth, ruddy flesh with her wet lips, worshipping the head of Hook’s prick. Still, he says nothing, merely breathes deep breaths through his nose.

A flicker of disappointment itches at the back of her mind. She shrugs it off; she’s had tough customers before.

She pulls down his linen underclothes, and she plants kisses down his shaft as she goes. She’s surprised—in a pleasant way she doesn’t wish to fully acknowledge—to find that the length of him just keeps going, and going, and—

“Eager thing,” Hook says, his eyes blazing like hot coals. In a flash he grabs her by the back of her neck and tugs her closer to him, growling, “more.”

His hand feels warm, and large, upon her nape; in equal parts it soothes and threatens her. Unsettled, but undeterred, she fists the base of Hook’s cock in her hand, and licks over his long, thick length with her tongue.

“Mo-muhh,” Hook groans, breaking his composure as her wet flat tongue laps at his dick, “mm-more, _yes_ … now ss-suck—,"

She licks a long line from her fist all the way up to the tip of his cock, and wraps her lips around the head.

Hook shivers as she lolls her tongue around his swollen cockhead, and when she subtly squeezes her fist around him in time with the swirling movement, he groans raggedly.

“Hmmhf,” she hums happily, victoriously around his meaty cock, watching the Captain’s knitted brow and parted pink lips as he unravels. He doesn’t meet her eyes, his gaze is trained on her mouth.

“I _ahh_ -asked about you,” Hook murmurs as she slowly starts to bob her lips along his shaft. She moves her mouth languidly, evenly, feeling every ridge and vein of his length with her lips and tongue. “They said,” he huffs through his nose, “by all accounts…” he swallows, his mouth dropping open as words and thoughts fail him.

“Mmmh?” she teases, locking eyes with him as her slippery lips meet her fist, over and over. Little tracks of spittle slip over her fingers.

“Mmh— _magical_ , little f-fae,” Hook groans, his heavy-lidded eyes glazing over.

A wicked gleam shines in her eyes as she works him over with her mouth. The floorboards creak beneath her knees, the large ship rocking softly where it’s anchored at the dock. She breathes, steadying herself to keep her equilibrium, and starts to move her fist in time with each pass of her lips.

“ _Fuhh_ -blazes, ohh, _Hell_ ,” Hook chokes out. Jerkily he undoes the top few buttons on his doublet; he’s warm, hot even, like he can’t pull air into his lungs fast enough. She drags her lips and tongue and hand faster along his cock—her whole upper body bobbing with the movement—and his head tips back against the shiplap wall with a deep groan, exposing the long column of his throat, blue-green veins bulging through flushed red skin. “Fuck!” hisses the Captain, and if her jaw wasn’t starting to cramp she’d hum a laugh at his predicament. Alas, Hook was outlasting even her most memorable patrons.

Suddenly, she feels his cock pulse and twitch on her tongue. She braces herself, smugly content in the knowledge that she’s _won_ ; she’s bested the great and fearsome Captain Hook with a couple of licks and kisses.

But what follows is not the hot, thick explosion she expects.

“Get back,” Hook barks through clenched teeth, shoving her off with his hand, “back!”

She scrambles backwards, the Captain’s silver hook winking at her. She sits on her haunches, and Hook rises to his feet, his height and build and angry red cock all a menacing picture of malice. He crosses the distance in a single heavy stride, his dark eyes set in a hard stare as he looms above her.

He grips his hard cock in his hand, and points at her with his hook. “You think I don’t see the way you _smile_ at me?” he snarls. “Do you think this is a _game_?”

In that instant, her stomach drops: an icy cold wave of fear washes over her. “S-sir,” she looks up at him imploringly, brazenly, with big brave scared eyes, “no—,”

Seizing the opportunity, Hook thrusts his cock into the little ‘o’ her mouth makes, muffling her noises of surprise and refusal. “Shut up,” he snaps, “ _suck_ , damn it,” and he thrusts his hips, dragging his cock along her tongue with satisfied groans.

She feels her lip bust open again as he drives in and out of her mouth forcefully, and she tastes the metallic tang of fresh blood as it mingles with her spit. Out of the corner of her eye, the hook gleams where it hangs by his thigh.

“You think your whore mouth can seduce me?” Hook grunts, “you’re proud, little fae, f-far too proud for a strumpet from the stre-stree— _ohh_!”

Hook groans as she tightens her lips around his throbbing cock. He curses as he fucks her mouth, his raven tresses tossed and flowing as he thrusts, beads of sweat running down the middle of his chest, disappearing into his doublet. He looks like a lion—that majestic creature from the lands of the exotic—but _dark_. Like a lion with the Devil on the inside.

On a whim, or a dare, or (dare she believe it) instinct, her hands fly up and grab at his driving hips, her fingers splayed across his breeches and his hot, bare skin.

Like a bolt of lightning, like striking a match. “ _Gahh-_ God—swallow it,” Hook grabs her by the hair, panting, and her eyes flare wide. “Swallow, you little cunt. Do not defy me,” he snarls, rapidly reaching his peak, her fingertips like tiny searing brands on his flesh.

Looking up at him from where he holds her head in place, she squeezes her fingers on his plunging hips in something of a silent answer, as if to say, ‘yes, I will’ and ‘no, I won’t’ and ‘do it, do it now’.

Hook catches her eye, and he’s done in. He throws his head back and groans, long and loud and haggard, like his very soul is leaving him. With erratic thrusts and breathless grunts he empties his load into her mouth and down her throat, his seed pumping out of him in contractions that are so sharp with pleasure they border on painful.

Soon he withdraws until his still-swollen cockhead rests on her bruised bottom lip, and the last of his cum dribbles from the tip of his prick and down her chin. Her mouth is otherwise empty.

Hook’s knees buckle at the sight, and with a shaky groan he stumbles back to the bench seat, panting to catch his breath and wiping sweat from his brow.

This is a man reduced, utterly spent, she knows. She's seen it.

The Captain says nothing as he tucks his softening cock into his linen underthings, and she doesn’t know whether she can stand or even move to wipe her face. The strange heavy-lightness of numb feeling starts to settle in her legs before Hook’s breathing returns to normal.

She makes to speak, to ask for a sip of rum, ale, anything for the stickiness in her throat—

“In there,” Hook gestures behind her to a small door cut into the opposite wall.

She hadn’t noticed it when Mister Smee and Flint had dragged her into the Captain’s Quarters. It looks too small to be another cabin, and too big to be merely storage.

She glances back to Hook at the sound of his boot-laden footfalls on the wooden floor. He stands above her fully dressed, and he graces her chin with the cold point of his metal hook, tilting her head up. “You will await me in there, little fae,” murmurs the Captain, before he strides from the room, never once looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the article: https://thedisinsider.com/2020/07/07/jude-law-in-talks-to-play-captain-hook-in-disneys-live-action-peter-pan/
> 
> Here's some dope art for your imaginings:  
> https://twitter.com/bensoloalive/status/1242626158862237698


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